


Precognitive Perspective

by AverageAlaskan



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-11-26 21:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AverageAlaskan/pseuds/AverageAlaskan
Summary: Argave Havenport is the District Four Boros Garrison Wojek branch Senior Officer, over the hill and close to retirement. But when this officer of the law comes across a warrant for a five-year-old girl, a series of unusual happenings opens up before him.Join Argave Havenport as he navigates Azorius bylaws, searches the undercity, and avoids Dimir assassins in his quest to reach the truth and avoid an early retirement.





	1. Latlillia Orphanage

The Fourth District is hardly a place that comes to mind when one speaks of the heights of Ravnica. Located far away from District Ten, and further away from any semblance of planar interference and/or good coffee, the Fourth District is a rather unassuming place of five precincts and a whole lot of nothing. There is absolutely nothing fascinating about the Fourth District, from the waterways spanning from Zonot sixty-four, to the Rakdos theater ranked seventh in personnel safety and retirement benefits in all of Ravnica (according to the Fourth District Times), even to the grand Orzhov basilica, Saint Velden’s, proudly boasting 3.75 APR financing. 

The Boros Legion of the Fourth District is better known for hosting public potlucks than high-action arrests, and the Fourth District Times listed the city as having only a 14% chance of dead loved ones coming back as fungal zombies. A popular pet shop on Corner Street is run by a Simic couple, and could breed you any animal you could possibly think of. The city quotes most of its economic growth to a flourishing consumer base, becoming known as a spot for tourism and the safest district in all of Ravnica. Yes, in the Fourth District, people sit on their porches, reading the news and greeting those walking by. Most murders are accidental, and Izzet explosions only occur every other day.

No, the Fourth District is not somewhere to visit on vacation, not a hometown you look forward to returning to on the holidays, and certainly, most certainly not, a place where anything of importance to the rest of Ravnica occurs. 

But there are always exceptions to the rules.

 

The rain that seems to plague Ravnica near-constantly pounded against the window as Argave looked out, a cup of Selesnya Fair Trade coffee fogging his spectacles more than the humidity looming outside. He looked out upon the people below, trudging through the soaking muck of the city streets as fast as they could in the horrid rain. An Izzet tinkerer stood on the street corner, trying to pitch a rain-repellent-apparatus to anyone who would listen, but no one would stop for long in such conditions. It had been raining for weeks in Precinct Three, and the weather forecast kept bumping back the deadline for sun. 

Argave sighed, letting the curtain close as he returned to his desk. On the third floor of the Precinct Three Boros Garrison Wojek Branch, Argave enjoyed the amenities of such things like a hardwood desk and internal heating. The Senior Officer of the place, it was Argave’s job to look over paperwork, keep staff moving, and reflect on the legacy that had elevated him to such a position. Pseudo-retirement treated Argave well, with a desk covered in medals and statuettes, and a shiny bronze nameplate that boldly stated this was indeed the office of  _ “Argave Havenport” _ . It was a nameplate that commanded respect, but no more than what was commanded by the man himself. Argave could catch his reflection in the peripheral of the window, a man of seasoned age, sporting equal amounts gray hair and bodily scars. A shapely beard outlined his face, and had ruined more than one romantic encounter in its stiffness. Argave wasn’t one for fashion, often stating that anything shinier than a zino belonged on a shelf, not a person. For that reason he wasn’t particularly fond of his glasses, gold-rimmed spectacles prescribed to him by a Simic doctor after an incident at the Izzet Boilerworks, the same event that took him off the field to begin with. They sat too roundly on his face, and they always felt like they would slip off should he move too fast. He had made amends with his ego in way of removing them outside office hours, but he was not so prideful as to pretend he didn’t need them. And either way, they were a much better option than the lizard eyes the doctor suggest he put in. 

So yes, Argave worked for the Boros Legion, he days done being a beat cop and now sifting through paperwork, but seemingly skilled at whatever task came his way. A private office, a cup of coffee, and a mutual fund in an Orzhov bank that promised to secure his retirement in another three years. On the third floor he was removed from the rabble rousing and loud noise of the main halls, and as much as that pleased him, he was not used to the silence that fell when he entered a room. The respect from his subordinates was gratifying, but it was respect towards a man who was done making a name for himself, preparing to slip into obscurity. Yes, Argave was old, but he didn’t want to accept it. So long as his muscles worked, he would continue to dedicate himself to the Boros Legion, and even further then. For today, however, that service had manifested in a large stack of Azorius warrant papers, the ones he pretended didn’t exist as he stared out the window.

Another sigh and Argave looked at the first paper on the stack. It bled of bureaucracy and signatures in triplicate, paragraphs on paragraphs, all necessary before the Azorius would endorse the Boros to track down criminals and fugitives of the law. It was dreadfully boring, and Argave could scarcely understand what drew people to the Azorius Senate, but he understood the importance of it all. The Azorius Senate and the Boros Legion both had their hands in different pots, and skills in different niches, and although the Boros Legion was undoubtedly more efficient in every way, occasionally they would partner with Azorius members for aid in tracking down certain scum, and vice versa. The particular stack in front of him was a pile of names and figures, each one a different criminal that apparently required military force to apprehend. Each dossier carried a list of specific requests, down to the very number of fire bombs each embermage should prepare in case of combat. Still procrastinating, Argave flipped through several of the descriptions, reading the ones that caught his eye.

 

_ “Lazzik Phelderand. Goblin Male. Age 43. 3’10”. Wanted for wielding combustion engines without a license, accidental arson, unsupervised pyromancy, and public indecency. Member of the Izzet League, last seen at Drake’s Tooth Tavern in Precinct Two. Requisition for three Boros soldiers of proper repute, one firefist, and one fire suppression squad.” _

 

_ “Krrik Grynell. Kraul Male. Age 25. 6’2”. Wanted for resisting arrest, possession of illegal substances. Member of the Golgari Swarm, last seen at Grynell Rot Farm near the Sanzda underriver. Requisition for Two Boros soldiers of proper repute, and one scorchbringer squad member.” _

 

_ “Vallia Colima. Human Female. Age 5. 2’9”. Wanted under special advisory issued by precognition mage department office number 219. Last seen at Latllila Orphanage in Precinct Three. Requisition for twenty-four Boros soldiers of proper repute, four Boros reckoners under large species designation, and two Skyjec officers with commanding experience.”  _

 

Argave had to pause and look at that last one. He reread it. Either the Selesnya were defying approved coffee standards again or this was a warrant request for a child. And given the breakout of fungalfoot after last year’s ‘natural living’ festival, Argave had to guess it was the latter. Still, even a goblin could see the discrepancy so clearly printed on the paper. A borderline garrison for the apprehension of a single child in an orphanage of all places? Argave ran his fingers through his beard. The papers were clearly Azorius, and they didn’t appear to be tampered with. Argave had spent enough time in the field to identify a Dimir insignia hidden in the scorch markings of an Izzet welding explosion, and nothing seemed to say this was anything more than another piece of standard procedure. But still. Argave set the form to the side, shaking off the gut feeling with promises of coming back to it later. The pile of paperwork hadn't yet disappeared even after all his dilly-dallying, and someone had to provide work for the layabouts hogging the second story lounge. He sighed again, swung back the last of his coffee, and picked up a quill.

 

Argave was always the last to leave the compound, locking the large wooden doors with a key nearly as thick around as his thumb. The rain hadn’t stopped during his time at work, and Argave had dutifully cloaked himself in a simple robe, hoping the warmth enchantments woven into the cloth would keep him dry enough on his way home. The evenings of District Four were nearly drowned in the sounds of falling rain, and even the Gruul had stopped their attacks against precinct seven early in response to the weather. The only people out at such a time were those with nothing better to do, or as Argave referred to them, the Dimir. He held a deep hatred for the Dimir, something he kept on his shoulder since the reveal of his academy buddy’s true colors. It was part of the reason Argave refused to step outside without first donning an impressive set of metal plate, but it was certainly true he was only alive today as a result. 

Argave’s apartment was located in Verllidian Heights, a complex overlooking the extensive lake of Zonot sixty-four. Associates asked him if he ever felt nervous living that close to a pool full of crab-beasts and squid-people, but it kept rent low and he enjoyed the scenery. 

And besides, it was in walking distance of both the garrison and Hozlada Wholefoods, the best food stall and grocer this side of Ravnica. His usual stop for a nice, hot dinner, and today had no reason to be different. The minotaur who ran the place could see Argave coming from two blocks away, and he could already smell the baked cod and cabbage he loved being prepared for his arrival. 

“Evening, Hozla.” Argave sidled up to the counter of the open-faced shop, trying to close in on the heat from within. “How’s business been treating you today?” 

“”Ame as always, Argave. Bit less, I ‘ppose. What wit’ the rain an’ all.” Holza was an imposing minotaur a good foot taller than Argave, and the wife of Ladza, the ferryman. She had started the store as a way to offset surplus from her personal garden, but when Azorius lawmages came knocking for her unofficial grocer, she decided to double down, resulting in the birth of Hozlada Wholefoods, to everyone’s benefit. Argave had only seen her husband a sparse number of times, but the couple remained a bit of a beacon for everybody in the precinct, standing strong even during Orzhov realtor squeezes and Golgari moss-plagues. “‘Ere’s your regular, then. That’ll be ‘ifty zibs.”

“There you are. Thanks, Hozla. Couldn’t do it without you.” Argave counted out the small coins before passing them to Hozla’s palm, where they immediately seemed to shrink in size. The bag of foil-wrapped fish and veggies was hot in Argave’s hand, and the excitement of a pleasant meal held him like a prepubescent teenager running off to join the Rakdos. “See you tomorrow, then. I just hope this rain lets up.”

“”S all the same to me. You take care now, though. Don’t need my best ‘ustomer getting sha’ked sometime now do I?” 

Argave nodded appreciatively at the warning, heading back into the rain, doing his best to keep the bag from getting wet. The mud of the street stuck to his boots, threatening to pull them off as he made his way north. This late in the evening, Argave looked to be the only soul out in such conditions, and he silently cursed whatever force controlled the weather. Eventually the large towers of Verllidian Heights came before him, offering him refuge from the unforgiving elements of the outside.  

Argave’s apartment was a beacon to minimalism and order. A small lounge contained a leather couch, a hardwood coffee table, and a large glass case holding a lifetime of medals and newspaper clippings. A small bedroom and a smaller kitchen, the whole ordeal screaming of someone who clearly wasn’t intending to get married anytime soon. But that worked just fine for Argave, whose closest romantic encounter was with an undercity medusa six years ago. He set the food on the table before stopping by the bedroom, swapping his plate for a svelte smoking jacket and a brass pipe. Argave had gone on record saying there was nothing in the world nicer than baked cod with a relaxing side of smokeweed, and they were words he lived by. No longer confined by the stuffy office, Argave relished the small, peaceful moments such as these. Hozla’s cod was always delectable, and tonight’s smokeweed was particularly satisfying. He reclined in the couch, looking over at his case of achievements as smoke emanated from the corners of his mouth. An old suit of chainmail from his initiate days, headlines of famous arrests, a faded Izzet pictofoil of him meeting Tajic face-to-face. It was a case near bursting with the lifetime of a proud Boros legionnaire, and it filled Argave with both pride and anxiety. 

It might be true, what the infantrymen said about his age, and it was certainly true many were coming to expect his retirement. Since the boilerworks incident, he had even been invited to be keynote speaker at the Precinct Three Veteran’s dinner. The smokeweed smoldered in his pipe, wisps of smoke gathering on the ceiling like the final breaths of a dying campfire.   _ Fine, _ he thought to himself,  _ Next month I’ll make the announcement. _ But before he was willing to come to terms with the unwilling end of his career, there were still some things he wanted to see through on his way out. Firstly, this strange Azorius warrant.

Agrave fished the paper from his knapsack, setting it on the table before him. Technically taking legal documents outside the garrison was a huge offense, but Agrave held the most authority there to begin with, and as a Wojek, he carried the right to launch independent investigations. He looked over the warrant a second time, chewing on the end of his pipe in unease.

 

_ “Vallia Colima. Human Female. Age 5. 2’9”. Wanted under special advisory issued by precognition mage department office number 219. Last seen at Latllila Orphanage in Precinct Three. Requisition for twenty-four Boros soldiers of proper repute, four Boros reckoners under large species designation, and two Skyjec officers with commanding experience.  _

_ Pragaz Offices precognition department office number 219 overseen by proceeding lawmage Marshal Crosse requests the support of the Boros Legion Third Precinct Wojek Branch in the apprehension of one Vallia Colima in fulfillment of the attached warrant and securing safety under District Four disaster avoidance guidelines signed in triplicate on the twenty-fourth of Cizarm. Requisitioned officers are to proceed in regulation with Azorius-Boros partnership standard 21-b in the aforementioned apprehension of the culprit. Upon confinement, the Boros Legion will deliver the culprit to Pragaz containment facility 1-A after a time no later than twelve hours after apprehension of the culprit. Culprit is subject to A5 restraining methods and warranted use of up to level B4 specialized armaments.  _

_ Culprit was last seen in registered home address, Latllilia Orphanage, Precinct Three, District Four, Fulmage St. 401.“ _

 

The document ended in a sea of different signatures, looking as though someone was trying to get this warrant passed as soon as possible. Argave reread the paper a third time, making sure it wasn’t just his vision failing him. Unfortunately, it was printed as clear as day; the Azorius were calling for the militarized arrest of a five year old orphaned child. 

Argave sucked the last few embers of his pipe to their final conclusion. The Azorius had to be fucking mad, finally broken by the long years of bureaucracy and short coffee breaks. Argave wanted nothing more than to stride down to this ‘ _ department office 219’ _ and give them a piece of his mind, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to get court martialed this close to the end of his career. He let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to wrap his head around the whole endeavor. There was no way this could be a real emergency, but crazier things had happened, it was true.  _ Who knows, _ he thought,  _ maybe it’s a young pyromancer or something.  _ Approximately fifteen percent of household injuries were results of magic manifesting in young children, after all. 

Argave sighed again, rather unhappy to remove his comfortable robe and redress in Boros plate, but he would be damned if he was going to waste any office hours on such a request. He took a moment to make sure his warmweave cloak wouldn’t leave him drenched in the rain before taking off into the stormy night, grumbling as he disappeared into the dark.

 

Argave stood outside the tall, thin building, gripping the warrant in one hand and keeping the rain out his eyes with the other. Rain poured from the heavens above, drenching poor Argrave as he struggled to make sure he had the right address. A weathered signboard sat nailed to the door, barely visible in the wet evening sky. A part in the clouds let Argave get a momentary look as the moon shone down on the precinct.  _ Fulmage St. 401, Latlilia Orphanage. _ It was certainly the place. Argave took a long breath before forming a fist, rapping his knuckles against the hard wood of the door. Hopefully someone was around to answer, or he was going to come down with mild hypothermia and severe frustration.

Argave perked up as sounds of unlocking came from the other side, the door opening ajar as someone peeked out from within. He couldn’t quite get a good look, but it seemed like the owner, or at least they were tall enough to be. 

“Can I help you?” The voice was rask and tainted with the withers of age. And it didn’t sound pleased to see him.

“Good evening, ma’am.” Argave flashed a smile rusty with disuse. It had been, what, at least seven years since he had made a house call? He raised his free hand in a half-greeting that made it painfully clear how uncomfortable he was. “I’m Argave Havenport with the Precinct Three Boros Garrison Wojek Div-” Argave was interrupted as the door began to close, “WAITWAItwaitwaitwait Ma’am!” His sentence was punctuated by a cry of pain as his fingers jammed in the doorframe. He shoved the warrant towards the open crack, desperate as his fingers threatened to disjoin from the rest of his hand. 

“IHAVEAWARRANT!”

The door slacked, sending him falling as his fingers suddenly slipped free. They throbbed in a color that was much too purple to be anything but extremely painful. The door was open, at least, and Argave looked up at the figure standing in front of him. 

A woman, old and weathered, unbrushed gray hair and a smoldering cigarette in the corner of her mouth. Tattered skirt, crossed arms, and a glare to match as she stared down the unfortunate Boros officer. A long finger pointed at him in defiance while he was still too stunned to respond. 

“Listen here, you white-haired sumbitch. I don’t know, nor do I  _ care _ , what you’re doing here, but I fucking swear to Mat’ Selesnya that you’ll be missing those goddamn fingers if you dare to hold open my door again, do I make myself clear?!” 

Argave honestly wasn’t sure to do, barely able to close his mouth in shock. Now that he had a clear look at the woman, it was true that she wore a faded Selesnya insignia woven into he dress. The Argave Havenport of the Wojek days would probably return the verbal assault tit for tat, slapping a pair of cuffs on this clear offender of civility. But the current Argave Havenport had a precarious hip he needed to consider, and his hand already hurt quite a bit. 

“I….have a warrant, ma’am.” Argave rose to his feet, trying to brush off some of the mud now caking his lower half. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, but there’s a rather serious case that requires I make contact with someone at this abode….”

The Selesnyian woman sneered, spitting her cigarette into the mud. “I don’t know what kind of case that might be, but I would suggest moving it to the bottom of your ‘To Do’ bin, bud.” 

“I’m not Azorius...Look, it’s either me or a full squad of troops coming later this week, okay? Let’s be cordial.” 

“Troops?” The woman frowned, hesitating a second before ripping the warrant from his grasp. She held it millimeters from her face, scanning the document in frightening haste. Argave watched as she finished her analysis with a low growl, maybe a little too brash for someone running an orphanage. The warrant was thrust back into Argave’s chest with the same force as before, sending him stumbling a few steps back. “Fine. Come in. But I swear, if you disturb any of the children, I  _ WILL _ make you pay.” 

Argave tried to find an answer as she turned back, heading inside and leaving the door open for him. It was progress, at least. Argave carefully folded the warrant and placed it back within his cloak, following inside. 

 

The inside of the Latlillia Orphanage was one of a historical building, showing its age in a way of well used dependency. It didn’t show the signs of a place in disrepair or financial distress, so maybe it was normal for old Selesnyians to dress like spinsters.

“Wait here.” The woman barked as Argave stood stiffly next to a particularly large grandfather clock. “The children are sleeping, I can’t have you clanking around with that armor and waking everyone up. I’ll fetch the child.” She left without another word, disappearing up some stairs to the next floor. Argave was left to anxiously drip water on the carpet in the hollow darkness and silence of the orphanage. 

The living room he was standing in was rather well-furbished, he had to admit. Children’s toys littered the carpeted floor between tall shelves of books and careful decorations. Ferns lined the walls under spacious windows. A piano holding scripts for practice sat in the far left corner, the bench covered in a number of pillows in lieu of a high-chair. Argave wondered how it all looked in the daytime, such a rather lovely looking place under watch of such a dreadful looking woman. 

Something in the corner caught Argave’s eye. A large bookshelf stood before him, its untouched books barred behind a collection of knicks and knacks. A small framed portrait of several people was placed in the middle, obscured by the dark of the room. Argave took a few steps closed, trying to get a clear look. A wooden frame engraved with winding tree branches encased the portrait, several people standing beside some child. Argave squinted, not quite able to make out the individual faces as he inched closer.

“Mr. Havenport.” A voice that could peel paint sounded from behind him, sending a shiver through his spine and a jump to his feet. Argave spun around, seeing the purse-mouthed Selesynian standing a foot behind him. She looked at him with the disapproving glare you would give someone when they didn’t stay standing next to the grandfather clock like they were told. Something moved next to her, and Argave looked down. A small dark child was clinging to the woman’s dress, staring back up at him with the wide eyes of a scared infant. “Introduce yourself to Vallia Colima, Mr. Havenport. I had to wake her up for this, after all. I was told you interrupted a dream of potion-sellers and pegasi, so you had better be  _ good. _ ” 

“Uhm.” Argave coughed, glancing between the woman and the child. Not wanting to make the matron any more cross, Argave put his new hip to good use crouching down to Vallia’s level. “Okay. Hey there, little girl. My name is Argave Havenport. You must be Vallia.” 

“Mama says you’re here to take me away…” The girl shifted further behind the matron’s dress, trying to hide herself as she stared at him with those big blue eyes. 

“Well, just for a little while. There’s some people at the senate that would really like to met you.” 

“Mama says that means you’re my new daddy.” 

“Is that so? Well…” Argave looked up at the Selesynian with a mix of disbelief and shock. The woman met him with the most notorious grin stretched across her wrinkled lips, setting her hand on Vallia’s head. 

“That’s right, Vallia. Mr. Havenport her said he was serious and would do  _ whatever _ it takes to bring you home with him.” 

“Really?” Argave watched as the girl’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, a mix of awe and wonder as she slowly lowered the shield of a dress. 

“I don’t remember discussing  _ that _ .” Argave stood to his feet, hissing the words through bated breath at the smug woman. 

Mrs. Selesnya took a step closer, never faltering with her smug grin and cocksure attitude. “You didn’t want to cause a scene, right?  So adopt this child, take her out of this place, and no one will be the wiser. Unless you want to tell her you’re  _ not _ her new father?”

“You bi...You are a wholly unpleasant woman, ma’am.” Argave grit his jaw as he stared into the woman’s unflinching eyes, burning with the internal anger of the depths of the Rakdos hell-pits. He let out a low sigh, crouching back down to the girl’s level. “That’s...that’s right, Vallia. I’m your new father. Why don’t we get you to your new home, alright?” 

“You’ll need this.” The woman shoved a basket into Argave’s hands. Inside were blankets, clothes, toys, and what looked to be some food. “And here’s a cloak for the rain. Can’t have your daughter getting sick now, can we?”

“I..” Argave was quickly overcome as the matron continued piling stuff in his arms, muttering to herself. “Isn’t there some paperwork for this? This all seems highly irregular.” 

“This will do fine.” The Selesynian held up the warrant that Argave had nearly forgotten about. 

“Wait, I need that!” 

“Not if you want to take your daughter home with you.” The old woman’s eyes flashed angrily as she deftly folded up the document. “This is mine now. You take your child and get out of here.”  

“But..” Argave considered. He didn’t  _ really _ need the warrant now that he had the child, but now if someone found he had removed the paperwork from the garrison…. He shook his head after a few seconds, “Fine, keep it. Come now, Vallia, put on your cloak and let’s go.” 

“Mm.” Young Vallia struggled a bit, fitting on the waterproof black robe before looking back to Argave with a proud face. She held up a grasping hand, to Argave’s confusion. What did that mean?

“Hold her hand, Mr Havenport.”

“I knew that!.” Argave snapped back, reaching down. Vallia’s grip could barely make it around a single finger, and Argave felt something stir in his heart. But with nothing else, the matron held the door of the orphanage open, letting them out into the unforgiving rain outside. 

“One last thing.” The matron snagged the back of Argave’s cloak, yanking him back. “You take care of that child, you hear me?”

“.....I hear you, ma’am. Have a good evening.”

“Yeah. Don’t let me down.” 

Well, Argave didn’t know what that meant, and he really just wanted to get as far away from this unpleasant woman as he could. The woman disappeared behind the closing door, and as Argave led Villia into the night, leaving as wisps of smoke began emanating from the smokestack above. Streams of water ran through the muck and mud, flowing through gutters, collecting in the storm drains as everything seemed to swirl around and down into the forgotten wastes of Ravnica. 

 

Argave shut the door behind him, relieved to finally be home. Rainwater pooled on the floor, dirty boots and drenched cloaks hanging near the door. A shivering hand still clung tightly to his finger, attached to the small wide-eyed girl Argave had inadvertently adopted. Argave had no experience with children, except for the times talking to subordinates’ kids during ‘bring-your-child-to-work’ days. Dutifully out of his element, Argave looked around for something that would tell him what to do.

“Mn.” A small sound from Vallia had him looking down, the young girl squeezing his finger as she sleepily rubbed her eyes. She looked up at him with a tired face, as it was the dead of night after all. Argave crouched down, scooping up the girl in a way that seemed like the correct thing to do. He carried her to his bedroom, suddenly painfully aware of the stench of smokeweed and dust. He took a mental note to scrub the place as he set her down on the bed, the massive frame dwarfing Vallia like a rowboat in the sea. She immediately curled up, fetal, eyes closed and overwhelmed by the late night. 

Argave looked down at her, this small child, wondering what on earth the Azorius Senate had to do with her. A random child in a backalley orphanage, hidden and harmless from the world. Few things were truly hidden in Ravnica, and there had to be a reason. He would take her to the senate building in the morning, he figured, get everything settled with and go about finding the girl a new home. He laid the comforter over her, almost burying her, resting her head on a pillow that was too big. His bed taken, he would be sleeping on the couch this night, but strangely, for whatever reason, that seemed quite alright with him. 


	2. The Pragaz Compound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argave deals with the logistics of childcare as he plans his next move towards the Azorius Senate. Bad news from a close friend hints that people are moving in the background.

Mornings for Argave tended to follow a pretty usual routine. Waking at the crack of dawn, coffee, newspaper, and a quick jog around the block before heading off to the garrison. Methodical, traditional, and set in stone. There wasn’t much that could alter this, except for Argave’s own occasional whim. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly wild, Argave would strike out and buy danishes for the rest of the office. Strawberry ones, if it was a real party day. But other than that? Coffee, newspaper, and a quick jog around the block.

But unfortunately this was not going to be one of those mornings, something painfully clear as a sudden pressure on his chest forced Argave awake. He groaned. He had already slept uneasily on the couch, covered in a simple quilt with a head full of questions and swirling thought. The tossing and turning of the night had failed to answer any of his deep quandaries, slowly filling him with dread for the upcoming day. Argave slowly peeled open an eye, looking for the source of his sudden discomfort. 

Vallia, that young girl with the frizzy black hair and blue eyes, had climbed onto his chest, bouncing up and down in attempt to wake her newly adoptive father. Argave’s open eye was met with a large smile, misaligned teeth, and a small giggle. Argave closed his eye, silently wishing all his problems away. He opened his eye again. The girl was still there. The Azorius warrant was still there. The people waiting for him to retire were still there, probably. He sighed. No matter what Argave didn’t do, his problems never seemed to disappear. 

“Mornin’, papa!” The girl poked him in the face, “I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry.” Argave groaned again, looked at Vallia through half-lidded eyes.  _ What time was it? Ass-crack of dawn?  _  “Right. You’re hungry. Of course you are. Let’s get you something to eat.”

The promise of food was enough to get Vallia off his chest, clapping happily as she stood by while Argave dragged himself off the couch. The kitchen of his apartment was rarely used, and Argave wasn’t even sure if he had anything for her to eat. He cracked open the fridge, scratching his beard as he tried to think. Half a carton of eggs, krasis milk, and an open bottle of smoketang sauce stared back at him. He searched the cupboard. Salt, pepper. A few cloves of garlic that were nearly going bad. He paused for a moment, thinking. He could work with this. Maybe. Argave was more familiar with a barbecue grill than a stovetop burner, but now he had a little girl expecting breakfast from him. Well, he’d faced worse. It would be fine. 

 

It was NOT fine. Argave scowled as his spatula scraped against the bottom of the pan, his eggs sticking to the surface as smoke started gathering above him. No matter what he tried, the eggs wouldn’t cooperate; separating into a mess of soggy, individual pieces. He cursed loudly, slamming the pan against the burner in frustration. The eggs had turned a dark brown, and the smell of burnt garlic stung his nose. Argave had fought battles, he had stared down giants and wrangled a runaway roc with his bare hands. Eggs shouldn’t be giving him this much trouble, and that just made him all the angrier. Exasperated, Argave flung his hands into the air, cursing again as he jammed the switch to turn the burner off. Argave was never gifted in the arts of magic, but his blood pressure had him wanting to cook the eggs to a crisp in anger, and he could feel the sparks starting from his fingertips. He could feel the veins in his forehead pulsate as he reached to immolate his problems.

Then there was a sneeze. 

Argave looked down to see Vallia looking up at him, those big eyes staring in confusion and fear as she hid behind the doorway to the kitchen.  _ How much did she hear? How much did she see? _  Argave stopped for a moment, carefully extinguishing his magic as he counted to ten. Anger management was hardly a thing the Boros Legion cared about, as long as it could be directed towards the nearest mob of Rakdos party-goers. When Argave was confident he wasn’t going to burn the apartment down, he finally addressed the little girl.

“Uh, hey there Vallia. Why don’t we go...outside! For breakfast. It’ll be fun? It’ll be fun!” Argave crouched down, flashing a toothy smile with open hands as he tried to coax the girl from hiding. Unfortunately, Vallia didn’t seem convinced, staring him down with those wary eyes. Argave was tinged with a bit of regret, mostly for swearing at the top of his lungs about eggs of all things. He made a mental note to watch the language from then on, clearly, setting examples for new recruits in the Garrison was definitely not a transferable skill. It didn’t seem like Vallia was anywhere near close to trusting this strange old man. At least, not until a loud growl filled the air. Vallia hesitated before slowly stepping out from behind the doorframe, head down as she tugged on the edge of her dress. 

“C’mon, let’s get you dressed and head outside.” Argave took her hand as he led her back to the main lounge. Vallia was wearing a simple, plain cotton dress, and it looked like the matron had packed more of the same in her belongings. Argave gave her some time to get changed, standing outside the closed bedroom door while childish humming came from the other side. Finally, they headed outside.

 

The rain of yesterday had left the morning sparkling with dew and humidity, but thankfully the sun was poking through a sky devoid of rain. The sunlight shimmered on the lake of Zonot sixty-four as they exited the apartment complex, a breathtaking view while reminding Argave why rent was so high. The sounds of footsteps walking the soaked cobblestone streets echoed in the busy morning air, the collection of people taking advantage of the nice, warm day. Even the tall buildings of Verllidian Heights seemed to reach upward towards the clear sky, as if in celebration of good weather. Condensation collected in a wet shine on Argave’s armor, reflecting the sun’s glare. Although his sword sat sheathed on his hip, something in the air told him he wouldn’t require its use today, as though the world was in the midst of a holy sabbath in thanks for a rainless day. And as much as Argave would normally love to enjoy the atmosphere, the small girl at his side tugged him incessantly along, laughing as they headed to join the busy streets.

Argave walked a few paces behind Vallia, watching as the girl excitedly ran from puddle to puddle, jumping with a pair of thick rubber boots. He nodded gratefully at folk forced to go around, but neither he nor they felt inconvenienced as he even caught the occasional small smile at the child’s presence.

“Don’t get wet, now.” Argave wasn’t sure how best to address small Vallia, still getting used to the sounds of shrill laughter as she stomped in the rainwater. He wasn’t sure what was so fun about the rainwater that seemed to constantly plague Ravnica, but it looked fun enough he wasn’t going to ask. Thankfully, Hozlada Wholefoods came into sight down the street, crowds of people coming to and from in their busy lives. As always, Hozla was standing behind the outside counter, cheerily bagging sales while potential customers picked over the large shelves of produce. They walked up  just as she finished wrapping a head of cabbage, handing it with a smile to a blue-skinned vedalken. 

“Morning, Hozla.”

“Argave!” Hozla turned with a snort, greeting him with a smile before catching sight of the girl next to him. “An’....This is Argave’s ‘aughter?”

“Uh, no. Definitely not.” Argave set his hands on Vallia’s shoulders, bringing her in front of Hozla, “No, this is Vallia, she’s staying with me for a few days for some...Azorius business. It’s a whole thing.”

“Iz that so?” Hozla came out from behind the counter. Even crouched, she was still nearly as tall as Argave, dwarfing the poor girl. “‘Ello, little girl. Wha’s your name?” 

Vallia looked borderline terrified as the minotaur loomed over her, trapped between her papa’s stiff hands and 350 pounds of hair and muscle. She gulped, “V-Vallia…”

“Sweet little tot. An’ iz this ‘ere your daddy?” Vallia nodded. “Iz that so. Wha a sweet child.” Hozla flashed a smile, rising back up to stare down a mortified Argave. 

Argave coughed, “I...brought her by for breakfast.” 

“Did ya now.” Hozla crossed her arms as she lorded over Argave, smirking, “Did ya now. ‘Ome for b’eakfast, now did ya.” She scratched her chin, clearly plotting something while Argave regretted everything he had ever done. “An’ so what, then, were you ‘hinking, bringin’ this ‘ere little one out an’ about, dressed ‘ike that?” 

“Excuse me?”

“I know you neve’ felt th’ love of a mother, Argave, but tha’s no excuse ta bring this tot out, lookin’ ‘ike she dressed in pajamas. It won’ do. LADZA!” Hozla turned and shouted into the store. A few seconds and Ladza, the poor husband, walked out, wiping his hands on an apron. Argave had only seen him a number of times, but he always seemed much too meek to be a ferryman, much less Hozla’s husband. A lean human a good head shorter than Argave, equalling a good two feet shorter than Hozla, Ladza looked like you could crush him just by looking at him wrong. However, personally, Argave had heard nothing but praise about the man, mostly adding up to his extremely polite demeanor. 

“Yes, dear?” Ladza clasped his hands together, nodding at Argave and Vallia in greeting. 

“Take th’ little one inside, see if you can’ find ‘er ‘ome clothes or ‘omethin. We still got ‘hose ones from your ‘ister’s tot?” 

“I’m sure I can find something.” Ladza leaned down, extending a hand and a warm smile towards Vallia. Argave was almost insulted by how quickly Vallia left his side to join Ladza, but it seemed like he had that effect on people. He could hardly be mad. “Let’s find you something nice to wear, shall we?” When the two had left, Hozla set about packaging some hot sandwiches for breakfast, bread and beef. 

“‘Ell, now tha’ they’re gone, you ‘ear about wha’ happened las’ night?” 

Argave raised a brow. Hozla didn’t gossip often, unless it was something good or juicy. Argave had personally accounted five different arrests towards tips given by the minotaur. “No, what?”

Hozla leaned closer, eyes down as she wrapped the food, “Th’ old lady on Fulmage Street? Ya’know, th’ one that ran that….wha’ was it?”

“Fulmage Street?” Argave furrowed his brow, taking a moment.  “...You don’t mean Latlillia Orphanage?”

“Tha’s it! Yes. Anyway, th’ old lady tha’ worked there? You kno’ ‘er?” Argave nodded. “Okay, ‘ell, I don’ ‘hink this is public knowledge, but.” She leaned closer. Argave could feel his cloak getting damp off her breath. “I ‘eard she got done in. An’ I also ‘hink ‘omeone’s keepin’ it under wraps. Now I’m only tellin’ ya this ‘cause I got an odd feelin’ ‘bout it. Th’ old crone, dunno why anyone would ‘ant to do ‘er in, but. Just do me a solid an’ keep an eye out, ya’know? ‘Omethin’s goin’ ‘bout, Argave.” 

Hozla drew back, putting the finishing touches on the package as Ladza and Vallia returned. 

“Well, it’s not much, but it seems to fit her alright.” Vallia came out, her tattered dress having been replaced with much nicer clothes. A faded red blouse and skirt, and Ladza had done her hair up in pigtails. Argave had to admit, she looked much more like a respectable child than the street urchin from before. “She’s a great kid, Argave.”

“Thank you, Ladza.” Argave nodded at the man as Vallia ran back to his side, grabbing his finger. She beamed up at him.

“Thas Ladza for you, always knows jus’ wha’ ta do. You ge’ back to stockin’ shelves, hon. I’ll talk ta you inna bit.” Hozla grinned with pride, rubbing his head before letting him leave. Once he left, however, Hozla looked back to Argave, her smile replaced by a hushed whisper. “I’ll let you know if I ‘ear anythin’ else. Bes’ not stick ‘round too long.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Hozla.” Argave nodded again, taking the sandwiches before setting down a handful of zinos, way more than enough for the food. Argave turned and left, Vallia in tow, trying to act as naturally as possible. Seamlessly, he led Vallia back into the crowds, asking her about her new clothes as the news of murder sat heavy in his mind. He knew better than to react. You could never be sure who was watching, after all.

 

Fifteen minutes later and Argave and Vallia sat on a public park bench, enjoying their sandwiches, staring up at the Pragaz Compound.  The Pragaz Compound was originally constructed as a maximum security prison, at least until the Azorius realized they could triple office space by installing four floors of cubicles above the facility. The resulting structure was a behemoth that looked like a cement brick with several towers perched on top of it, like the famous Hallowed Fountain but built on a booster seat of felons. As a result, it was endlessly mocked by Rakdos performers for the lack of aesthetic sense, and decreased Azorius workplace satisfaction by 30 percent. On the bright side, the surrounding area consisted of a public park, complete with fountains of fresh water and the occasional food vendor. The Azorius were one of the four guilds that held the most presence in Precinct Three, and as a result, made an effort to keep their side of town nicer than the rest. Clean streets and botanical gardens conformed to their precarious standards, yet always remained completely devoid of people. For some reason beyond the understanding of Azorius lawmages, the populous of District Four were less than keen to visit a park located directly outside a maximum security containment facility, and even less so an Azorius office building. 

And somewhere, in those tall towers of bureaucracy, was a certain precognitive mage and the source of Vallia’s warrant. Argave took a bite of his sandwich as he tried to imagine what kind of person he was about to meet, and whether or not he would be able to resist bashing their head against the wall. As often as Argave was forced to work alongside Azorius, he had essentially placed all members of the guild into three categories. Those that were honestly trying to bring order to the streets of Ravnica, those that were trying to gain something from the system, and those that were convinced they knew what was best for everyone else. The first two were fine, and easy enough to tolerate, but it was the last category that really pissed off Argave. As a Boros, and especially as a Wojek officier, he had seen the worse and lowest of District Four. The base drives of those down on their luck, motives either criminal or insane, usually the sad result of something outside their control. Argave was witness towards the worst of it all, and therefore had all the more reason to crack down on whatever led to such ruination. So for someone in an ivory tower, surrounded by books and legislature, to claim they knew how best to remedy a disease they had never seen? It aggravated him to the fullest extent.  

Argave looked down at Vallia, the young child swinging her feet as she covered her face in meat sauce and bread crumbs. Someone wanted her in that facility permanently, and he was delivering her right to their doorstep. Well, that  _ was _ technically his job. But he had to consider. Obviously, getting Vallia’s warrant cleared, finding her a new home, and going back to work was ideal. But what if it wasn’t that easy. It probably wasn’t going to be that easy. Would he fight his way out? Clearly he wasn’t about to abandon Vallia in there. And then there was the case of the murdered matron. Hozla had said she was murdered, which she must have heard from  _ somebody. _ But why on earth would anyone kill the matron of an orphanage, let alone try to cover it up? Argave thought back to the unpleasant lady, her pursed lips and cross attitude. He would have to stop by Latlillia Orphanage on the way home. Dig through whatever was covering the case and file an official report. Find the body. Search for the cause of death or maybe a murder weapon. Ask around for witnesses. 

Argave’s mind raced as he tried to juggle everything, staring into nothing. It seemed both the Azorius and Latlillia Orphanage had cascaded into a series of problems, and Argave slowly, mentally, listed it all out into a careful plan. Years of Wojek training had taught him how to approach an investigation, and although the news of murder disturbed him, there was nothing he could do about it right now. For now, at least, he had to march into Pragaz and figure how best to approach the authority. Vallia looked up at him, the hard thinking father, her face dirty and sandwich finished. To her, perhaps it looked like her papa had simply lost his train of thought, maybe due to his age. Argave, however, was not suffering short-term memory loss. Not yet. Argave had a plan. A good plan. He spurred into action, devouring the rest of his sandwich before looking down at Vallia. 

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Some people want very much to meet you, Vallia.” Argave crouched down, wiping her face with his sleeve. “So we’re going to do just that.” 


	3. Marshal Crosse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argave Havenport finally comes face-to-face with Azorius precognition mage Marshal Crosse, the man behind Vallia's warrant and the source of Argave's problems.

The lobby of the Pragaz Compound was a sight in and of itself. It stood as a testament to Azorius architecture, with high-reaching pillars and billowing tapestries, walls lined with the faces of notable judges. Embellished names of important lawmages, pencil pushers, and the occasional sphinx lined in rows below portraits that refused to smile. A while back, in an attempt to increase workplace ambition, the council behind the infamous Pragaz Public Park commissioned a line of portraits by accomplished painters of District Four. At the time, they failed to recognize that faces of Azorius bureaucrats have the same amount of charisma as a expired Golgari rot-hulk. As a result: nothing really changed. Looking back, perhaps that was secretly a win in their books. The rest of the building sported a high-topped roof, panes of blue glass funneling light into the dreary auditorium. Beams of light from the fresh sunny sky shone down to illuminate all the dust floating through the air, looking for the nearest law book or white-blue robe to cling to. The wide-open sanctum to law had been constructed in a way that every footstep, sneeze, and unauthorized cough echoed in the heavy marbles halls, turning each minor slight a person could commit into an entire event. The tiled floor was laid out in exact measurements, sheets of polished marble, lining the floor like an unmarked spreadsheet. This tiled floor led towards a rather large reception desk, and further on to a massive, decadent staircase. Chandeliers and candelabras of pure silver guided citizens up the stairs to the first floor of Azorius office space. However, continuing under the staircase would lead you into the containment facilities of the Pragaz Compound, a place stark and empty in design, as though every zib in the budget had gone towards making passage to the higher floors as euphoric as possible. Hewn rock corridors led to different sections of cells, making sure the filth of Ravnica never saw the light of day. The result was a sharp contrast in the two different halves of Pragaz, but whichever way you went, straight or upwards, you were heading into the unflinching arms of justice.  This contrast was a concept Rakdos lampooners had run into the ground since the facility’s conception, but it was a classic for good reason. 

-

Argave stepped unimpeded into the heart of the lobby, Vallia standing nervously at his side. Holding his finger, Argave could feel her anxiousness each time the young girl tightened her grip. Before them sat the reception desk, piled high with forms and papers, meticulously sorted by a long-armed homunculus. The sickly blue creature hadn’t looked up from its paperwork since they entered the building, and even now, it barely glanced over as Argave moved to the front of the reception. Long, heavy knuckled fingers moved papers from stack to stack, occasionally moving over to a series of clockwork stamps. Always-pursed lips sat nearly hidden beneath its large, bulbous eye, threatening to pop from its skull with every movement. Argave was left to wonder how much of its salary was dedicated to eye moisturizer. Honestly, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable around homunculi. He would never say it aloud, but the veiny bodies and hunched forms seemed much like those of Orzhov thrulls. He cleared his throat.

“Good morning sir. I’m here looking for...office 219. Is there a Mr. Marshal Crosse?” 

The receptionist didn’t even blink. Argave wasn’t sure it  _ could _ blink. And when it spoke, the words came out monotone and dry, like a vocal printing press, “Do you have an appointment?” 

“I’m..” Argave looked down at Vallia, who was trying her hardest to avoid the homunculus’ gaze. “I’m here on behalf of the Precinct Three Boros Garrison Wojek Branch, in relation to the outstanding warrant of one  _ Vallia Colima _ , issued by a Mr. Marshal Crosse. It’s imperative that I meet him. Is he in?” Argave rattled off the details, trying not to seem desperate as he put on his best ‘bureaucrat’ face. Although he didn’t like to admit it, he could buzzword with the best of them, having spent so much time in the field. The homunculus didn’t respond, looking deep at Argave, its eye twitching ever so slightly. Without saying a word, it leaned over, shifting its focus over the desk to little Vallia. Vallia flinched back, trying to hide herself behind Argave as the homunculus stared at her, its single eye swiveling to get a good look. Argave watched as the wretched thing finally slunk back to its position behind the desk, regarding him once more. 

“You will find office 219 on the second floor of the precognitive department, 19th door on the left. Take the stairs. I will notice him of your arrival.” The homunculus breathed out its monotone voice, its hands returning to sorting papers. Argave gave it an uneasy nod before leaving the desk towards the elaborate staircase. Vallia continued to look back as he led her by the hand, squinting at the strange creature. 

“Weird.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Argave leaned down in a sharp, sudden whisper. He glanced over at the homunculus, and then back at his daughter. It didn’t seem like it’d heard. “...Don’t say mean things about other people.” 

Vallia frowned at the ground, scuffing the tile floor with her boot. “....But it’s true.” 

Argave looked back at the receptionist, its arms bent, working behind a desk unfit for its awkward frame. It seemed to shift slightly with each breath, as though it found it difficult to breathe. It certainly did look similar to a thrull, indeed it did, but Argave found something caught in his throat. He looked at Vallia.

“Doesn’t matter.” Argave turned back to the staircase, “People first, Vallia.” 

-

The second floor of the Pragaz Compound precognitive department existed as a series of thin hallways, wide enough for a pushcart and not much else. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the floor, hanging overhead as a sinkhole of taxpayer dollars. Doors stood bunched much too close together, the thin walls forcing everyone to work in absolute silence. Each step the pair took echoed down the hall, heavy boots staining the blue velvet floor. Argave eyed the rooms, a brass plaque fastened above the doorframe of each office, emblazoned with numbers of metal-stamped font. 208. 209. Each door was home to a small opaque window and a single brass doorknob, standing in uniform line like metal soldiers. 210. 211. 212. With each step Argave left behind a wet footprint, mud and old rainwater, easily three times the size of Vallia’s own. As she walked behind him, Vallia made a game of trying to follow his footsteps. 213. 214. 215. Argave’s hand slowly moved to his waist, resting itself against the hilt of his blade, anxious. Each step down the corridor, the air was heavier, the strain more tense. The atmosphere seemed to press back against them, as if rejecting them from the hallowed halls. 216. 217. 218. Argave looked back at Vallia, who had grown quiet. She seemed to be thinking of something, her forehead furrowed in thought. Argave took another step. 219. The door stood same as all the rest, yet it seemed more threatening than Argave ever thought possible. Again, he looked to Vallia. 

“It’s a person?” Vallia spoke up, face curious. Argave blinked.

“......Who?”

“The..The weird thing.” Vallia stumbled with her words, and Argave realized she was still talking about the receptionist. 

“...It’s that interesting, huh? Don’t call people weird.” 

Vallia pouted, puffing her cheeks out. “But it’s true….”

“Doesn’t matter.” Argave reached and rapped his knuckles against the door, “If you stick your cheeks out like that you’ll turn into a chipmunk, you know.” He puffed out his cheeks as well. They looked at each other for a moment before Vallia cracked, giggling, and Argave couldn’t help but smile himself. At least, until the door opened. 

“Come in.” A voice called from inside the room. Argave took a breath and guided Vallia inside, and the door closed behind them. A man sat, perched, sitting behind a broad desk that took up a fourth of the room, the traces of magic leaving his fingertips. Human, clean shaven, black hair neatly trimmed at the sides. He was dressed the robes of a precognitive mage, a billowy smock crested in emblems of blue and gold. He wore his hood down, staring intently at the two with curious eyes, a shimmering blue that seemed to betray his abilities. Purse-lipped, thin jaws, and a rather unmuscular frame, it was quite clear to Argave this man spent more time in his office than outside. Typical for an Azorius, he supposed. A gold-leafed nameplate at the front of his desk told Argave this was the man he was looking for. The one and only Marshal Crosse. Argave had to say, the name didn’t seem to much fit the man, but it looked like he wore it well enough.

“Officier Havenport.” Crosse gestured to a pair of chairs before his desk. Save the nameplate, his desk was nearly spotless. A few leafs of paperwork sat in sharp stacks near the corners of his desk, possibly work well done. Or more troublesome warrants.

“ _ Senior _ Officer.” Argave eased Vallia into her seat before taking his own, the small girl’s legs swinging freely above the ground. “Mr. Crosse.” 

“ _ Minister _ .” The man replied with equal venom. “And she wouldn’t happen to be Vallia Colima, would she now?” His eyes drifted towards Vallia, who was preoccupied with swinging her legs. 

“Indeed it is, Minister.” 

The moment Argave confirmed it he could see the blood drain from Marshal’s face. Regardless of how anxious he was, he didn’t change his expression, still looking at her with those swimming blue eyes. He twitched, and reaching into his robe, pulled out a stainless white handkerchief. He coughed.

“Is there an issue, Minister?” 

Marshal coughed again, harder, and returned the handkerchief to his robe. He sat his hands on the desk, fingers interlaced. “Don’t concern yourself with me. Although I think you may have become a bit confused, Senior Officer. The holding facilities are located  _ beyond _ the staircase, not up it.” He pointed at Vallia, “What’s the meaning of this?” 

“Plainly, I believe there’s a been a error in the issuing of her warrant.” Argave watched the mage’s eyes flicker between himself and the girl. “I’ve come to discuss the reasons behind her arrest. Are you sure...” He looked over at Vallia, who seemed to be staring intently at an office fern. “Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake.” 

“With all due respect, Senior Officer, I  _ assure _ you it was not a mistake.” Marshal locked back onto Argave, expression grave. “The warrant was issued to the Precinct Three Boros Garrison Wojek Branch in perfect detail. It was scrutinized by the same legislators as every warrant is. If you have some concern regarding the listed procedure, it is unfounded.The Azorius Senate does  _ not _ make mistakes.” 

“Okay, see.” Argave let out a small sigh, leaning forward a little in his seat, starting to drop the bureaucratic facade. “I read your warrant. The instructions, procedures, all of it. And unless I missed something, there is no possible reason to arrest this girl. Look at her. She barely stands up to my waist. She’s five years old, for crying out loud! So please, I really, really would like you to explain what’s so important here.”

“I don’t have to explain to you. The warrant was detailed in full.” Marshal leaned forward as well, and the two men glared at each other. “The Boros are tasked with apprehending dangerous individuals, not asking questions.” 

“ _ The Boros _ only apprehend individuals designated to be too dangerous for Lyev personnel!”

“That girl  _ is _ too dangerous for our personnel! Otherwise we wouldn't have issued a warrant!” 

“Then  _ maybe _ ,” Argave grit his teeth, beard bristling as he drew closer to the man’s repulsively clean face. “Just  _ maybe _ , you should explain why this requires me and my men’s time and effort and  _ NOT _ try to  _ BULLSHIT _ me with drivel about who’s WHO! CONVINCE ME,  _ Minister _ ! EXPLAIN!” 

The two sneered at each other in a way that perfectly summed up Azorius-Boros relations, but then something sounded over to the right. Vallia had begun to cry. 

“Ah, shit! No no no!” Argave quickly abandoned the argument, leaping from his chair as he knelt down beside Vallia. “Hey, hey there. Nothing’s scary, no one’s going to hurt you. There, there. I’m sorry.” Argave cooed as he attempted to calm down the crying Vallia; hiccuping as her face scrunched with tears. “There, there. It’s okay.”

“I had a revelation, Senior Officer.” Minister Crosse had returned to his seat, and his hands returned to the desk interlaced. He stifled a cough. “The reason I didn’t explain it is because I  _ can’t  _ fully explain it. You might find it hard to believe, but that girl, that crying girl,  _ will _ be the destruction of Ravnica, unless you help me stop it.” 

Argave finished dabbing Vallia’s face with his glove, stemming the tears and patting her head before turning back to Marshal. He looked at him with a mix of disgust and disbelief at his claim, that Vallia was somehow a destroyer of worlds. But he returned to his seat. “Keep going.”

“Precognitive work isn’t always clear, you know. It’s vague. Something will happen at some time, or somewhere. The details are always...fuzzy, for lack of a better word. I don’t know how, but when this girl grows up, she  _ will _ bring calamity, I promise you. District Four and every other District will become a sea of flame and destruction. Innocent people will be ruined or killed, and everything Ravnica stands for will go crumbling. These eyes of mine have never lied, Senior Officier, and I do not lie towards you. Ten, fifteen years from now, Ravnica will cease to exist, and it will cease to exist because of her and her alone.” Marshal Crosse pointed at Vallia; sitting in her chair, visibly scared and shaking. Argave realized just how much disdain for her dwelled in those eyes of his. “And obviously, the Azorius Senate cannot let that happen, nor can the Boros Legion. So I ask you, Senior Wojek Argave Havenport,  _ please _ . Leave the girl here and return to your garrison.”

“You say that like you plan to murder her. She’s just a child!” Argave began to raise his voice once more, but a quick glance at the girl and he lowered it to a whisper, leaning in and setting his elbows on the edge of the desk. Marshal looked insulted at the action. “If that’s really the case, then in ten, fifteen years you can arrest her! You would throw a child,  _ a child _ behind bars, just for something you  _ think _ she might do? I’m not going to let that happen.” 

“I do not  _ think _ , Senior Officier. I  _ know. _ I don’t like it either, but we have a duty. Sometimes it is a solemn one. You need understand, I take no joy in this. Now leave. I’ll look to getting the girl somewhere safe. You did well to bring her here, but I’m sorry. Honestly.”

Argave felt the anger rise within him as he listened to the Minister’s words. Useless bureaucracy and law. His words weren't going to get through to him, and they certainly weren't going to abolish Vallia's warrant. But that didn't matter. He wasn’t going to let them take her away from him, he couldn’t! The thought of Vallia alone in a dark cell devoid of light and interaction...He stood up, slamming his hand flat against the desk. The wood sizzled as he looked straight into Marshal's eyes, his own starting to burn red. 

“No.”

“Wha- No?” Marshal looked shocked with disbelief. He scrambled to pull his handkerchief from his robes, coughing, “It-It wasn’t a question, Havenport! You don't have a choice! The warrant compels you to leave her here!” 

“The warrant compels me, Minister,” Argave reached down, scooping the trembling Vallia into his arms. Her hands instantly clung tight to his cloak, and her body trembled, threatening another flow of tears. “To deliver her within twelve hours of apprehension. It hasn’t been twelve hours yet, only ten. Therefore, the Boros retain the right to hold her for another two hours. So goodbye, Crosse.” Argave turned away and stepped towards the door.

“You...You realize I can’t let you do that, right?” Marshal stammered, “Once those twelve hours are up, she’s not in Boros custody anymore. You’ll be harboring a fugitive. You’ll be a wanted man!” 

“There’s a difference between lawfulness and justice, Minister. Hunt me all you want, the Boros would never aid such a heartless endeavor. I think you’ll come to realize that eventually. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” Carefully supporting Vallia, Argave opened the door with his free hand, stepping out into the hall. It closed behind him on the sounds of Marshal coughing.  Argave gently reached up and pat Vallia on the back, doing his best to calm her down. From what Marshal had said, the full force of the Lyev would come chasing him down in little time. He checked his pocket watch.  _Two hours. That's more than enough time._  With that, he took off down the hall, carrying his girl. The race had begun.


	4. Escape to the Undercity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With precious little time to waste, Argave escapes to the one place nothing is ever found. And there, to meet an old ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, been a bit since I uploaded. Feels bad, sorry bout that. Been busy with classes and work and whatnot. Not abandoning this anytime soon, though. More of District Four to come!

“So that’s the story. From here, I’m going to be laying low for a while. If any messages come for me, pass them onto Hozla. She’ll know what to do. Until I’m back, Officier Salzman is in charge. Make sure work continues as usual. Even if I’m not around, I’ll know if you’re slacking off.” 

The group of Wojek Officers stood around uneasily, gathering in a loose circle as Argave finished stuffing the contents of his desk into the third of a series of duffel bags. No one seemed sure what to say as they stood around, scuffing their feet and trying to decide whether this was illegal or not. Occasionally one would open their mouth to speak, only to suddenly remember Argave outranked them all. They could only wordlessly watch as Argave scooped the last of his desktop into the bag, save for his gilded nameplate. Each duffel was easily 30 pounds as Argave slung them around his shoulders, standing and facing his Wojek staff. 

“Some Azorius hounds might come sniffing about at some point. I trust you all know what to do. Salzman?” 

Salzman in question was a lithe vashino, regional manager and correspondence officer. A long tail and a long line of minor achievements, Salzman was standing near the back as nervousness radiated from his entire being. He had been tasked with watching Vallia while Argave packed, and she was currently treating his tail like an energetic stuffed animal.

“Er, yes sir. Good luck with your investigation.”  

“Thanks. No one sit in my chair. Come on, Vallia.” Argave held out his hand as Vallia jumped over, grabbing his thumb with her whole hand. The rest of the Wojek officers watched as Argave strolled from the office, out the door and down the hallway. They stood around for a moment, occasional glancing at Salzman, suddenly without the top of their chain of command. Someone spoke up,

“...I didn’t know Mr. Havenport had a kid.” 

-

Down on the cobblestone streets, Argave checked his pocket watch.  _ One hour. _ He snapped it closed, clicking his tongue and looking down at Vallia. She was scuffing her shoes against the stone sidewalk, head hung low. She hadn’t said much since the Pragaz office, but Crosse’s words were clearly weighing on her mind. Unfortunately, as much as he would love to take her aside and assure her nothing bad was going to happen, he was a bit more worried about the entire Lyev column coming down on their heads. 

He hooked around the corner, walking quickly as possible towards Verllidian Heights. Emergency supplies, clothes, important documents, maybe even munitions. Argave juggled a mental checklist of everything he would need from his apartment. And then...What, exactly? As they neared closer and closer to home, Argave tried to figure out the details. If his home wasn’t already under watch, it would be soon. They rounded a corner. Zonot Sixty-Four was visible in the distance, its glimmering blue lake peeking out between rows of buildings. It gave him an idea. 

Where Precinct Three contained the Wojek Garrison, Pragaz Compound, and Zonot Sixty-Four, the expanding lake of simic territory actually overlapped with the neighboring Precinct Two. In order to bridge the gap between the two precincts, one would usually hire a Simic barges to the other side, or otherwise be forced to walk around the perimeter of the lake. As a result, Simic farriers tended to make a nice living wage for themselves, even more so for ones that didn’t ask questions. And although Argave himself had never quite aligned himself with any members of the Simic Combine himself, he did know a friend or two on the other side of the lake. 

The steps of Verllidian Heights were still clear of any signs of Azorius, only occupied by a guildless man; clearly homeless in patchworn clothes. Argave passed by him as he hurried Vallia inside, making a beeline for the staircase. They hurried up, and soon the apartment door was locked behind them, safe in the musty old apartment. At least for now. Vallia took a few steps further inside, feet shuffling, while Argave looked around for items of import. A heavy cloak to conceal his image from the rack, a stash of golden 5-zino coins; emblazoned with the Boros emblem, from under the mattress. 10 years ago Argave could go undercover at the tip of a hat, but now… He cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the false backing of his closet. The trigger mechanism was in the top right, he could’ve sworn. He didn’t have time for this.

He heard a sniffle.

He didn’t have time for her, either. 

Argave turned around, halfway in the back of a closet, the contents spilling out onto the floor. Vallia stood in the doorway, head still hanging as she watched him. He sighed.

“Is something the matter?” 

“...” Vallia pulled at the corners of her dress, “Did I do something bad?” 

“No, Vallia, you didn’t.” Argave grumbled as he pounded at the corners of the closet. It was probably just stuck.

“I’m scared.”

“There’s no reason to be scared.” Argave thumped his fist against the wood. He could probably just break it open.

“...Are they going to take me away?” 

“No, Vallia. They’re not going to take you away.” Argave punched the wood again, and finally, the trigger snapped, the back paneling popping free to reveal a wall of supplies.  Daggers, potions, a hand crossbow, ensignia for each of the guilds. Everything a Wojek needed for an investigation. Argave hurried to store as much as he could on his person, arming himself to the teeth. 

“I’m hungry.”

Argave’s head throbbed. Like he had time to get her something to eat, right now of all times. 

“Can you wait a little bit?”

“But I’m hungry.” 

“Vallia.” Argave stepped back from the closet, kneeling down and planting his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling slightly. “I get that you’re hungry, but we need to hurry. We’ll get something to eat on the way.” 

“Are we going somewhere?”

“We’re going to visit a friend of mine. You’ll like her. She’s nice.” Argave gave her a pat on the head before standing back up, leading out into the lounge. He made a quick pass by the window, peering down at the ground entrance. Men clad in silver armor with blue robes stood near the stairs, talking with the guildless man. Argave watched as he pointed up at the apartment, the men nodding. One of them handed him some coin.  _ Time’s up. _ Argave clicked his teeth as he walked over to his armchair. Many a peaceful night had been spent relaxing, puffing his pipe and looking out the window. Good times. It would have to be put to better uses now, unfortunately. Argave grunted, pushing, shoving it in front of the door. Hopefully it would buy some time. There was only one last thing he needed. As Argave fiddled with the lock to his trophy case, knocking starting sounding at the door. 

“This is the Azorius Senate. Open the door.” 

Argave had to resist laughing as he slid open the glass from in front of the case. He passed over all the awards and memorabilia, instead grabbing a single weapon from its stand. A warhammer, crackling with explosive energy even after decades of disuse. A sunforger. Argave had been honored enough to receive it during his trip to the Tenth District. He had never used it, no, but it was said to deliver as much firepower as 2 dozen firebombs in a single use. He slung it to his belt as the knocking got louder.

“This is the Azorius Senate! Open the door or we will force entry!” 

He would have to leave behind most of what he grabbed from his office, but a single large backpack could fit everything important. He quickly threw it on, looking for Vallia. She was hiding behind the couch, watching the door as dull thumping came from the other side. With no time to waste, Argave picked her up, setting her across his shoulder as he went for the balcony. 

“It’s gonna be alright, just hold on, okay?” Argave reassured her as he threw open the backdoor, looking down at the stone below. There was a fire escape that skirted the back walls of the apartment building, old and rusted. Whether or not it could hold a whole person covered in plate, supplies, and a young child was anybody’s guess. After closing the door, Argave began to carefully make his way down the narrow staircases to the ground floor. The sound of magic and splintering wood exploded somewhere above them.  _ Goodbye, Verllidian Heights. _ The wrought iron of the stairs creaked, bending under the weight of time and pressure. 

“Almost down.” He whispered back to Vallia.

The back lot of Verllidian Heights was a flat expanse of hewn stone, spreading out a number of meters before giving way to the lake’s edge. A collection of docks gave groundings to various skiffs and Simic waterways, fully placing out the line between Zonot Sixty-four and the Rest of Precinct Three. Stepping down, Argave lowered Vallia from his shoulder, glancing about for anyone that might have seen their descent. The homeless, guildless man from before was sitting near a pile of garbage bags, eyes open. He must have seen the whole thing. Argave glared at him, but unfortunately there wasn’t enough time to physically assault him. No, instead he looked out across the waterfront for the closest available barge.  

A large, frog-like man stood at the edge of the docks, 10 meters away. He, along with what was now a small crowd, were standing and staring at the apartment building. And now at Argave, who was barreling towards him with Vallia under one arm. 

Argave strained to catch his breath, “Passage.” 

“.....Two Zinos.”

Argave grumbled, as that was nearly four times the price of a normal trip. He shoved the coins into the frogman’s hands and boarded the flat-board vessel. The oarman turned the coins over in his hand, taking one last look at the apartment before pushing off. The Simic barge was a long, open-air skiff, with padded chairs lining a depressed section of floor. Surprisingly cushy, to be honest. Argave sat Vallia down on the cushions before taking inventory of his belongings. Everything was there, thank the angels. 

“Quite the commotion back there.” The oarman looked down at Argave. Each of his eyes blinked independently. He sat at the back of the boat, moving the paddle with the skill of a professional.

“Yes, well. You know what they say.” Argave finished taking inventory, looking out across the lake at the Zonot. “Never a quiet day on Ravnica.” 

Zonot Sixty-Four, located near the middle of the lake, a stained glass dome of winding aquatic blue laced with the cyclicial supports classic to the Simic Combine. Boats were continuously coming and going from the dockfront, a hub of activity between the different precincts. From the Zonot, they could continue towards Precinct Two, towards the Izzet Boilerworks. But Argave had something different in mind. 

As did Vallia. She had turned around, reaching over the side of the boat to trail her fingers across the lake. Things swirled in the deep waters below, people or fish or something darker than that. Vallia had never seen the lake this close, only from the window of her room at the orphanage. It was colder than she expected. And wet. Vallia wondered what kind of things lived in the lake. The weird oarman probably did, she thought. She didn’t like his eyes. They weren’t like Argave’s. 

“Getting a transfer? I can set you one up.” 

“No thanks.” 

The man let out a ribbit, surprised. It was certainly unusual, especially for a Boros Officier, not to transfer at the Zonot unless you had business with the Combine. Or something lower. 

“Going...south?”

Argave didn’t respond, the last thing he needed was anyone else squealing to the Azorius about their whereabouts. He looked over at Vallia. Her hand trailed in the water, her mind someplace else. What she was thinking about, he couldn’t guess, but at least she wasn’t complaining about being hungry. He tried to imagine how such a small child could destroy the city, how Crosse could be right, how he could possibly be doing the wrong thing. It all seemed impossible. Precognitive magic was fuzzy at best. How something so inaccurate could sow such fear was the problem with today’s Ravnica, he thought. Young people trusting magic more than a sidewalk investigation. Argave leaned back in the barge, trailing off in thoughts of nostalgia. 

-

“We’re here.” The oarman ribbited as the barge nudged against the dock. He pointedly avoided Argave’s gaze as he tied down the boat, “...have a day.” 

“Thanks. C’mon, Vallia.” Argave lugged his pack to the shore, pulling Vallia from her dreamscape of impossible fish. He turned and walked up the polished dock stairs, feeling the frog’s eyes on his back as they finally arrived at Zonot Sixty-Four. Polished lapas, sea-green glass, and wide open plazas welcomed traveller’s into the heart of District Four’s Simic Combine. Artifacts and breathtaking inventions stood behind glass cases, descriptions plastered on the podiums beneath them. Small, winged creatures of some scientist or another fluttered through the air, filling the sky with activity. Vallia was speechless as she followed Argave into the Zonot, unsure of where to look as the levy of scientific wonder opened up before her. 

The main plaza itself was home to many different counters and offices, directories to specific laboratories and storefronts for popular items. Most Simic biomancy took place further beneath the waves, in isolated labs and sectioned chambers. Zonot Sixty-Four was rumored to stretch down endlessly, the exact height known only to a special few of House Dimir. 

Regardless, Argave was not here for body-altering magics, nor was he here for a slug that doubled as a vacuum. He wasn’t even here for the stands selling buckets of polished beads, something that quite peaked Vallia’s interest. No, he was here for a little diminutive counter near the furthest corner of the Zonot, hidden away by those who would rather not look at such a thing. The Golgari Swarm. More precisely, the Golgari’s embassy within District Four. 

The counter was mained by a tired-looking Devkarin elf, staring off into nowhere. Poor thing. Dust gathering in the gauntness of her cheeks, cobwebs holding a pen between her fingers. It was anyone’s guess when was the last time someone talked to her. 

“Good day.”

She didn’t respond, she barely blinked. The Golgari Swarm was never popular, and as much as Argave didn’t love them either, the neglect was always sad to see.

“....Good day?”

Her eyes flickered over to Argave. When her head moved, it sounded like the rustling of a forgotten stack of papers. She moved to speak, but only let out a rusty cough. She cleared her throat.

“Y-yes?”

“I need a ride to the Undercity.”

She blinked, and then blinked again. It was as though she had forgotten such a place existed at all. Then, suddenly, her eyes seemed to light up with spirit, and her entire body came alive. “The Undercity?! Yes, Yes of course! Uh...Just need you to fill this out here…” She slid some paperwork across the counter, yellow with age. Argave took one look at it before glancing over at the crowds. It was useful, being where no one wanted to look. He fished a zino out from his pocket, sliding it and the paperwork back towards the lady. 

“I need a ride to the Undercity,  _ quietly _ .” 

The clerk looked down at the bribe like she had forgotten what the word ‘protocol’ meant. Wordlessly, she picked up the gold coin, sliding it into her blouse before flashing him with a smile.

“Of course! So, it will be just you, then?”

“What? No, we-” Argave looked to his side. And to his other side. Vallia was missing. “Dammit.” 

Argave turned and dashed towards the plaza center, cursing to himself as he looked for Vallia. Never should have let her out of sight, he thought. In a place where everyone looks like a crab or a fish or whatever, spotting a single human girl ought to be easy, right? Still, she was nowhere to be found.

“You seen a small girl, bout yea tall, dark, frizzy hair?” Argave began asking pedestrians, shopkeeps. Most shrugged, while a few furrowed their brows in thought. Eventually, finally, exasperatedly, a tall man with the head of a squid pointed him towards one of the stands. Argave thanked him and raced off.

The polished bead stand was a cacophony of pretty lights, clacking noise, and smooth feels. Vallia was having the time of her life with the other children, watching as the lobster-handed man scooped and poured the small glass pieces. He would fill a generous portion in his bucket-like grip, pouring it over like a waterfall of color into small bags made of net. Vallia oohed and aahed with the others, grinning in delight as they all watched what was clearly a master at work. 

“VALLIA!”

Vallia had never seen Argave mad. Well, she had, but not like this. For the first time, she felt like she had done something horribly wrong, and for the second time, she wished she was back at the orphanage. The old, rugged man was coming towards her and the stand, red-faced and heaving. She could see veins moving in his neck. She was scared. Her papa came up to her, crouching down, so clearly angry. So mad. She closed her eyes.

“....I thought I lost you.”

Vallia opened her eyes again. Argave was no longer mad, at least, she didn’t think so. His arms had her wrapped up in a tight hug, it was the type of hug that made her feel safe. She trembled. She didn’t know what had happened, she didn’t know what she had done wrong, but she was sorry. Sorry that something was wrong. Argave let go, but not completely, still holding her hand as he stood back up, hunched. 

“Sorry, sir.” He nodded apologetically at the shopkeep. The shopkeep, for his part, simply looked a bit shocked, and maybe a little scared himself. “Come, Vallia, let’s go.”

“But...the beads.”

“The beads? What beads? Those beads? You don’t need those beads. Now c’mon, we’ve got to go.” 

Vallia sagged. She had been across town, down a fire escape, across a lake, been yelled at, never even got lunch, and now papa was saying she couldn’t have the beads. Her lip trembled. 

“Ooh. Those beads. Yes, ah…” Argave took one look at her, and one look at the crowd around them. They did  **not** need any more attention, not now. Argave fumbled to search his pockets for a few copper zibs, hastily handing it to the man for a pouch of the brightly colored rocks. “There, no need to cry, okay? Thank you, sir.” Argave nodded again at the man and guided Vallia back towards their original goal.

-

Passage to the Golgari Undercity existed as a single, rickety elevator that probably hadn’t seen maintenance since the signing of the guild pact. The Devkarin lady had been kind enough to guide them through the hallway to the gate, all the time fawning over what a cute daughter Argave had, and refusing to listen to any of his excuses. So now, here they were, standing in near darkness, waiting as the elevator descended deep into Ravnica. Argave wasn’t sure, but it was a good guess that the tunnel stood parallel to the Zonot, following its deep tower through the sinkhole. In which case, with another good guess, that meant the Undercity was at least partially located directly beneath Zonot Sixty-Four. Which meant they had to descend the entire length of the Zonot. It was going to be a long wait.

Argave sighed in the dark. His pack was heavy, his legs were sore, and his armor was too tight around the midriff. It had been too long since he felt excitement like that. He was starting to lose track of time, how long had they been in this elevator? An hour? Two hours? Hopefully not that long. He could hear Vallia playing with her beads in the darkness, the sharp clacking of glass against glass. He thought about how relieved he was to find her, and how terrifying it would be if someone got her. He would have to be more vigilant. More aware. More-

The elevator jerked and started. It stopped. Argaved looked around. Had they made it? Before he could say anything to Vallia, the elevator shifted again. Lurched. A groaning, creaking sound of metal came from above, and something gave. The elevator screeched against the sides of the tunnel, sparks flying as they began flying downwards. Argave struggled to keep his footing as he reached out for Vallia. He found her in the dark, grabbing hold and bracing for the worst. Down, down, down.

-

When Argave awoke, all he could feel was something soft. Like a pillow, a bed of cushions. He coughed. His entire body was sore and numb. He didn’t bother wondering if he was dead, that was a useless question. But Vallia. He willed himself into action, lurching upwards.

“Hey! Careful!” Someone cried out beside him, a hand on his chest forced him back down. A hand? He wasn’t wearing his armor. He tried to open his eyes, but something dark and heavy seemed to cover him. He tried to move again. 

“I said stop it! Calm down! Fuck!” 

Sounds of movement came from somewhere beside him, and whatever obscured his vision was removed. Argave struggled to open his eyes, but everything was still blurry. His head pounded. 

“...What…” 

“Elevator shaft collapsed. Said it was from disuse. You’re lucky to be alive.” The sound of splashing water, and his vision was obscured again. This time it was colder, and wetter. “Don’t move too much.” 

Argave settled down a bit in the dark. His limbs felt heavy, and it was hard to think. He struggled to speak.

“...The girl…”

“What now?” 

“The...the girl...with me.”

“.....Are you going senile? They found you alone.” 

The words sent cold shivers through his spine. Not good. Any sense of self-preservation fled Argave’s body as he forced himself to move, cost be damned. 

“I SAID STOP MOVING!” The wet, dark thing was removed, and Argave felt a quick, fast pain across his face. His cheek stung. Did he just get slapped? Whoever was there forced him back down. “Fuck! You really have gone senile, haven’t you?” 

Argave laid still once more. Everything was still too blurry to see, but he tried to focus. The slap, at least, seemed familiar. A heavy pit arose in his stomach. But it couldn’t be...

“.....Sindala?”

A sigh. “Yes, it’s me, you old coot. Now hold still.” 

The wet thing, which at this point was probably a washcloth, was placed back on Argave’s face. Not that he could feel it anymore. Instead, Argave felt his whole body shiver in despair as he tried not to fall sick.

The thing was, Sindala was a gorgon. A member of the Golgari Swarm. She was also who Argave had come to find. So why, then, was Argave terrified? His stomach twisted and turned as he tried to hold as still as possible, suddenly so clearly aware of who was with him. He hadn’t prepared for this, he had prepared for an apologetic speech, maybe some sappy words, maybe some flowers. Not somehow winding up on her couch, near death, so very vunerable. 

Because, at the end of the day, Argave didn’t want to be on Sindala’s bad side.

Because Sindala was a force to be reckoned with.

Because, among other things, Sindala was his wife. 

“....How..did you find me?”

“Because when I heard some Boros nobody fell down the elevator shaft, I figured there was only so many people it could be. And sure enough,” Argave winced as she dabbed something on his wounds, her hands moving across his body, “Look who it was.”

“....I’m surprised they just let you take me..like that.”

“You’re my husband.” Argave groaned out in pain as she touched a spot on his arm. It was definitely broken. “And, if I remember correctly,” He winced as he felt her press down, massaging the bruised flesh. “I said I would kill you if I saw you again.”

Argave struggled to speak, sucking air through his teeth. He could hear the sounds of a spell, whispering and ethereal and more than likely about to end his life. If the elevator didn’t kill him, Sindala definitely would. He tried to think of an excuse, of anything he could say. His mind raced.

There was another sigh.

“....Why did you come back here, Argave?”

His heart skipped a beat.

Which means it was still beating.

Argave took a deep breath, still incredibly tense as he began to recount the last few days. Each word ran over his tongue like gravel, rolling out from broken ribs and bruised lungs. The girl, Marshal Crosse, the warrant, the tension between the Boros and Azorius. Unable to see, unable to move, Argave spoke further into the peripheral. Time passed as he eventually drawled to the end of everything, doing his best to look towards where Sindala might be.

“...And so I was hoping to lay low for a bit.” 

“Shit. You really got yourself into deep this time. Fine. You can stay here. Call it a favor.” 

Argave flinched as she pulled the washcloth from his face. He blinked once, twice, a few times, the blurriness starting to fade. He could see Sindala there, sitting beside him, wringing the cloth over a basin of water. The details were fuzzy, but she looked just as he remembered- tall, lithe, and dangerous. Her serpentine hair writhed in the air, moving in ways that betrayed her real feelings. He couldn’t see clearly, but he could tell she was looking at him, dull, twinkling eyes that could kill at a glance. 

He forced a smile, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. You.” Sindala grumbled as she threw the cloth into the basin with a splash, standing, “You just focus on getting better. I’ll ask around about your...child.” She left, and with nothing else, Argave closed his injured eyes. He felt tired. 

-

The following days saw Argave bedridden, struggling as Sindala begrudgingly nursed him back to health. Each morning he asked her, but there was no news of Vallia’s whereabouts. And every time, Argave tried to force himself up, grumbling about time and emergencies. Days continued as such, in the comfy confines of Sindala’s life, among the mushrooms and vivid undergrowth of her home. He spent most of his time looking out the window, looking out across the sprawling undercity, as Sindala’s house sat on a perch a ways from the city proper, as was due course for a gorgon. Flickering, iridescent lights illuminated the dark caverns day and night, glowing bugs and plants working in tandem. Often, Argave looked out upon the rows of crowded streets and night life, trying to figure in his tired mind where Vallia could have gone. 

His plan had failed. Any hope to wait things out in the Undercity was gone. Any hope to hatch a plan in the Undercity was gone. He would have to find Vallia, and when he did, what would he do then? The surface would be crawling with Lyev knights looking for him. He would have to go somewhere, somewhere he could gather himself and make a case against the Azorius Senate to prove Vallia’s innocence. To do so, he would need allies. Supporters. The public on his side. That was the easy part, it wasn’t hard to find people opposed to the Senate. Trouble came when he had to figure out how not to get arrested through that process. He would have to find people that were good at not getting arrested. He tried to think. Rakdos ringmasters, Orzhov high priests. He tried to think of how willing he was to go for this, and which of his old enemies he could ally with.

And at first, Argave spent the dark nights alone, staring into the dark nothingness, thinking those kinds of thoughts. Days passed, and then weeks. Argave grew quiet, sullen. It wasn’t until Sindala came down one night, silent in the dark, that his mind shifted to other things. 

“Hey.”

“What..”

“Just..” Argave was jostled,  painfully, as she forced his way into the cot. “..There we go.”

“..What are you doing?” 

“....” She didn’t respond immediately. Argave shifted uncomfortably. She was warm, and the touch of another person was not unwelcome. “Do you think things could go back to how they were?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Do you remember? When were first met?”

“I do.”

“You were trying to catch the Greenmarket Assassin, and I…” 

“...and you never did get caught.” 

“Did you ever explain to them why you disappeared for half a year?”

“....”

“I figured not.”

“....”

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Why did you come back here, back to me? Of all people.” 

“...I told you. I needed to lay low.” 

“You’re a bad liar, Argave. Always have been. I think you panicked.” 

“I don’t panic.”

“I think you panicked, and I think you thought I could help you.”

“....Think what you want”

“....”

“....”

“So all this, just for a child?”

“...They want to lock her up. It’s unethical.” 

“And so you broke the law, ran away, and fell down an elevator shaft. That’s unlike you.”

“No child deserves prison.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“No child deserves life in a...maximum security facility.”

“....I guess I’m getting the picture. Still, though, you could have just pleaded to the higher ups, right?”

“I had twelve hours.”

“We had twelve hours.”

“.....Please don’t.”

“You remember, don’t you? Running down alleyways. Breaking into stores. Daring escapes and frantic chases and rendezvous. You  _ loved  _ it.”

“I should have arrested you.”

“But you didn’t. You spent all that time trying to catch me, and when you finally did-”

“Why are you bringing this up, Sindala?”

He felt her shift under the sheets.

“I missed you.”

-

The weeks continued, and as his eyesight began to heal, Argave watched Sindala from the corners of his eyes. The serpentine woman often moved about the house; cooking or sewing or glancing at his broken form. She seemed disturbed by his presence, like a pitiful annoyance she could not relax around, although probably more bothered by her own words and nightly visits. Yet, whenever she changed his wrappings, or fed him, or sat next to him near the open window for a small conversation, she came clear into Argave’s sight, and he could see the worrying concern she held for him. The decades hadn’t been easy, and he could see the lines of age on her face. She had grown old since he last saw her. Where she had once been a brilliant, imposing beauty of violence and sheer grit, tall and demanding, she was no longer. Everything seemed so much more quiet now, for he, too, could see his own age in her eyes. 

But eventually, Argave’s wounds healed. Two months of bedrest, undercut by the growing concern of his child. When he found himself finally able to move, Argave made no waste in sitting up, bracing himself on the bedside. 

“I think it’s well enough time to carry on.” 

Sindala didn’t say much, gathering his things with a sullen air about her. Argave looked at the Boros helmet placed in his hands, dented and scuffed in the accident. He handed it back to her with a sigh, asking for something else. Boros insignias weren’t popular in the Undercity, after all. Commoner’s clothes and plain leather armor. He prepared light, taking only the necessities, save for one. Refusing to part with it, he holstered his sunforger at his hip, praying only that he still had enough strength to wield it as he hid it behind his cloak. With that, it was time.

“Argave, I don’t ask that you don’t do what you need to do, but..” Sindala met him in the doorway to see him off, drawing close as winding ropes of hair held his face, “...When you’re done, and everything is done, would you come back? Come back to me?” 

“.....I can’t say. I can hope. But I need to go.” He leaned and kissed her on the forehead, his face rough with unshaven growth. As tempting as a quiet life would be, Argave found himself once more unable to think of anything but the task at hand. The quiet life had never been further off, and they both knew it. Neither spoke another word as he turned and headed out into the Undercity. Into the dark.


End file.
